thrift store dogma

September 23, 2020 / mbrazfieldm / 3 Comments

a genesis

September 11, 2020September 11, 2020 / mbrazfieldm / 2 Comments

it’s gotten to the point where i can’t even sleep
the things you do the peace you rob from me
so subtly you look into the sky of orange gauze and we stand there by the cliff looking at the water drown
it’s gotten to the point where i can’t even sleep
there’s a certain warlike peace being waged upon my self
i didn’t see you coming although my need was urgent
knowing that we both are destined to wander upon the wicked Earth we stand side by side and look in opposite direction
it’s gotten to the point where i can’t even sleep
and when we both laugh at life’s uncertainties you offer me flowers from the merry making wind
you steal away my everything and give me something more
it’s gotten to the point where i can’t even sleep
not knowing how to handle this i tell myself it’s just a dream
tone of your sound as you’re coming near dispel all i’ve ever felt and blast away my fears
staring at the concrete i have a very winding road
it’s gotten to the point where i can’t even sleep
the whole world on fire my brother’s all can’t breathe
did the Lord send you as my safety net disguised as Adam six foot one
cuz when you smile at me i step out from the mud
it’s gotten to the point where i can’t even sleep
there are no songs of rainbows there are no songs of death there are no songs of great becoming
there are no songs left
but in the middle of the night twilight presses more
i’ve become your widow
i’ve become your wife
i’ve become the everything in this ground above the hell in flight
it’s gotten to the point where i can’t even sleep
and all i can think about are those sweet words from your lips and i don’t want to die while i’m dying all alone
as you take me by my hands and you offer me a home
you offer me a different God as you laugh what difference does it make
it’s gotten to the point where i can’t even sleep

burn

September 10, 2020 / mbrazfieldm / Leave a comment

a fire erupted in Lebanon of which i know nothing of about it came in a dream i think i was half alive halfway gone into a forbidden slumber i thought about my life many many years back i thought about the people who have had an impact and how a lot of things went wrong i thought about the lucid dream i had of the bronze daughter of Eve Celedonia she called me by my true name she said your name is California i paid her no mind i thought it was just my acid trip and then reality struck upon my mortal lips i screamed like i had never screamed before Satan was laughing by my door and i saw myself burn never the houses of the rich and never the souls of the poor and always the souls of the rich are never to be found upon a cold and icy rest the bronze daughter of Eve Celedonia she called my name and said you are California blood will run through your face blood will run between your legs you are the nest of the trafficked California from head to toe said Celadonia you are damned you must fall you will fall onto the ocean of the tribal Kings that ruled this place so many years until Morrison sang about them

coping crutch bend

September 10, 2020 / mbrazfieldm / 8 Comments

basura

September 8, 2020 / mbrazfieldm / 11 Comments

you touched me softly
you held me to your bosom
you looked at me with the softness of a dying fawn
you whispered to me on dark nights with rainy windows
you buried your sweet face so innocently in mine when the howling winds drew near too close to your safety valve
you grew
you matured
your mind expanded
you took the bite of all forbidden
you wandered into the deserts full of twinkling lights
you wore the silks and the satins you heard the music play on mountains
like all good souls
you outgrew what we had
you had to leave and i understand that
although i wait i know you’ll never come
the sun rises and sets
i am here in judgment and in torment
i always knew in the end we were just a moment

mother Sun and the archangel

September 7, 2020 / mbrazfieldm / Leave a comment

birds and fig trees

June 23, 2020 / mbrazfieldm / 9 Comments

baby birds tucked in the fig tree yelling tweeting at the top of their tiny bird lungs
little beaks automatons
of nature booming from
the hard green fig tree
as i remained faceless
from the gray black trunk
of that biblical tree
i peeped itsy bitsy baby bird
feets hanging on to knots of wood these baby birds browner than brown and oranger than orange
such a concert hall cacophony of teeny tweet tweet prayers